


World's Finest: Lake Weekend

by WingFeathers



Series: World's Finest: The Missing Issues [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, World's Finest (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne Can't Cook, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Clark Kent Can Cook, Continuity What Continuity, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Robin, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Long Weekend Actually, M/M, Milk And Cookies, Minor Dick Grayson & Wally West, Nightmares, POV Dick Grayson, Pillow Talk, Rosh HaShana | Jewish New Year, The Talk, UNCLE CLARK, Vacation, Walking In On Someone, family traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 22:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15958796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingFeathers/pseuds/WingFeathers
Summary: Bruce and Dick invite Clark to the lakehouse for a long weekend around Rosh Hashanah, but Dick has trouble sleeping outside the Manor, and Bruce isn't as available as he should be.  And all of this brings up a question: what exactly are the three of them, a bat-vigilante and his ward and his superhero boyfriend?  Could they be something like a family?(And how will they eat with Alfred not taking care of them?)





	1. Friday

The shock of air conditioning hit Dick’s chest as he stepped indoors—quite a rude _welcome back_ from an afternoon spent on the lake.

They’d come to the lakehouse on the perfect early fall weekend—beautiful warm sunny days followed by cool September nights.  Thanks perhaps to Martha Wayne's heritage, no one at school had so much as blinked when Dick had declared that he would be absent the days before and Rosh Hashanah despite not being Jewish himself.  He didn't see the need to elaborate that Bruce was not even _remotely_ observant and that their Friday plans mostly involved waterskiing.  They deserved the break, the time away from Gotham, and Clark had been able to take the time off to join them.

“Boy, I’m _wiped_ ,” he said.

“Too much sun will do that,” Bruce said.

Clark rolled his eyes spectacularly.

“It’s _true_ ,” Bruce insisted. “Prolonged sun raises your body temperature, dehydrates, and demands energy for processing the vitamin D. Four hours in the sun is draining—at least for us _feeble_ humans.”

Clark laughed. “I know all that, Bruce. But you could at least _try_ to sound less like a vampire.”

Dick snickered at that and flopped onto the oversized sectional, nestling his towel under his wet hair. It probably _was_ partially the sun. Partially the sports. And partially the lack of sleep Thursday night after they’d arrived, when he’d stayed up until three in the morning talking to Wally and reading mystery novels that had been left in the house at some earlier point.

“Wake me up when there’s food,” he said, yawning through his command.

“Alfred’s back in Gotham,” Bruce reminded him, “so food isn’t going to drop into your lap, chum.”

“I can cook,” Clark volunteered. “But help would be nice. I mean. From Dick. Bruce, you’re, uh, welcome to relax. Too much sun an’ all.”

“If you’re trying to avoid insulting Bruce’s kitchen skills,” Dick said, “you aren’t doing a good job.”

Clark looked away from Bruce, who folded his arms.

“I’m a perfectly fine cook, _thank_ you.”

Dick grimaced. “ _Are_ you, though?”

“I had to make my own food the whole time I was in Tibet, and—”

“Cooking for yourself doesn’t count.”

“I made you macaroni once! When Alfred was sick, remember?”

“Uh, Bruce… You _burned_ the pasta. I made _myself_ macaroni after we had to throw out the first batch.”

Bruce retreated, furrowing his brow and looking off to the side, as if the memory were hidden out of view. “You may be right.”

“Yeah, I am. Now move along. I’m sleeping.” Dick dragged a decorative throw off the side of the couch and pulled it over his head.

***

He woke up in a cold sweat, blinking away the remnants of a horrible dream. He’d been alone, surrounded by darkness, with only enough light to see the bloody sawdust at his feet. He’d tried calling for his parents, even though he knew they wouldn’t come. He’d called for Bruce, for Alfred, for Clark, for Wally, for Ma and Pa Kent. Nothing. And then the darkness had tightened closer and closer until the ground dropped from under him and he was falling.

And then he was awake.

He swung his feet to the ground and felt the solid floor, opened his eyes wide to take in as much of the fading sunlight as he could.

It had only been a dream.

There’d been a time, once, when nightmares like this had woken him up nearly every night. These days, it didn’t happen so much. At least not at home, in the Manor, with Alfred’s food in his stomach and Bruce back from patrol. And not when he’d pushed himself past the point of exhaustion, like he had last night.

He dragged himself up and toward the stairs. Maybe in his bedroom, he’d have a better chance of it. Or maybe he’d just go watch TV and give up on the stupid idea of napping.

As he walked down the hall, still trying to shake off the lingering feeling of dread, he found himself stopping in front of Bruce’s door. Bruce’s presence always helped. And his TV was bigger, anyway. Though Bruce probably wanted rest himself. And Dick would look like a stupid little kid in front of Clark, running into his guardian’s room.

But then the feeling of the darkness closing in started surrounding him again, leaving him shuddering in an imagined cold, and he made his choice. At the very least, he had to let Bruce know that this was happening, that he needed to learn some trick for staying asleep when away from home. He threw open the door and—

And Bruce was _not_ asleep. Not remotely.

“ _OHMYGODI’MSORRY_ ,” Dick shouted, squeezing his eyes shut and turning around. Thankfully, Clark had moved pretty much instantaneously to be a good twenty feet away from either Bruce or Dick, but Dick didn’t want to take any chances seeing anything more than he already had.

“Haven’t you people heard of a _lock_?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He rounded the corner and sprinted down the hall as fast as his feet could carry him.

Did he like that Bruce was dating Clark? Absolutely.

Did he know that Bruce was an adult who did adult things with the people he dated? Yeah, duh.

But he had _zero_ interest in _seeing_ it.

He flung himself into his room and threw his door closed behind him.

He closed his eyes tight, as if that would erase the memory. Thanks to Clark’s quick reaction, there hadn’t been much time to sear the image into his brain, but it was enough.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Bruce probably was wishing right now that he’d left Dick behind in Gotham.

But _Clark_ was the one who was out of place here, at the lake. Before, it had been a special retreat for him and Bruce, a place to pretend like they led normal lives and be something almost sort of like a father and son. Fishing, hiking, eating frozen meals and terrible pizza from the only place that delivered in the small town.

But that was stupid and petty. Dick _liked_ Clark. Dick had been the one to _invite_ him, after all. But now, it all seemed like a terrible idea.

He reached for his phone, flipped it open to text Wally, and typed: 

> _Oh my GOD HELP. Can yr powers rewind time yet bc that would be great? I saw something I never want to see or remember again._
> 
> Wally: ???
> 
> Dick: _SO u remember how Im at the lake for the weekend? With B n C?_
> 
> Wally: _Omg please tell me this is what I think it is_
> 
> Dick: _I walked in on them????!!! I want to tear out my eyes_
> 
> Wally: _LOLOLOLOLOL_
> 
> Wally: _Was it hot tho_
> 
> Dick’s face contorted reading the words and he frantically typed his response.
> 
> Dick: _WHAT_
> 
> Dick: _GET OUT OF MY LIFE_
> 
> Wally: _Idk what shit youre into ok_
> 
> Dick: _Not BRUCE_
> 
> Dick: _GROSS_
> 
> Wally: _Just saying. Could be worse. Couldve been MY parents. 100 per cent disgusting right there_
> 
> Dick: _How do I ever look at either of them again??_
> 
> Wally: _Ur a survivor. I believe in you. Want to call? Or I can come over? Not all of us have unlimited text plans rich boy_
> 
> Dick: _Um did you forget about how C can hear everything I say? No thank you_
> 
> Dick didn’t have superhearing himself, but the footsteps outside his room still reached his ears and jarred him from his texts.
> 
> Wally: _I can come over and kidnap you if you want?_

A knock rang out just as Dick shouted, “I’m good, Bruce. I don’t want to talk about it.”

His phone buzzed. Wally again.

> _If you dont answer in sixty sec Im taking that as a yes_

“It’s not Bruce.”

Dick swore under his breath and quickly typed out a message. 

> _Hold off. C is here. If u dont hear back in twenty min assume Ive died of embarrassment._

“The door’s unlocked,” Dick called.

Clark opened the door and stood there, shuffling from side to side. “Can I… come in?”

Dick shrugged and looked down at his phone, which buzzed again and lit up.

> _Can I have your phone if you die? And gaming system?_

“Talking to someone?”

Dick slid his phone face-down on the midnight-blue rug and shook his head, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Just Wally being an idiot.”

“Listen… You… weren’t meant to’ve seen that.”

“No _shit_.” Dick blinked his eyes open and looked up, but seeing Clark just brought the scene right back.

He’d seen Bruce making out with people, sure. Really, he’d seen _worse_ with Selina, but that hadn’t been nearly as scarring. Because this was Clark. _Clark_. His _friend_.

“I’m sorry,” Clark said.

At least he didn’t make excuses.

“I don’t want you to… to think of me differently, knowing…”

Dick laughed. “I’m not a _kid_ ,” he insisted. “I know what you _do_. I know… _lots_ of things.”

“You _do_?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know what school was like in Kansas, but I live in _Gotham_. We go over all those things in health class like, every year.”

“You’re not… doing any… _things_ … yourself, right?”

“ _No_!” Dick’s face fell in horror. “I mean. Some things. Not _things_ -things.”

“You know, words exist for a reason. It’s helpful to use the ones you mean.”

Dick shrugged. “You know _exactly_ what I mean.”

“Fair enough.” Clark wrapped a hand around one of the bedposts and looked around at the walls of Dick’s room. “Has _Bruce_ talked to you about all of that yet?”

“Ugh, he _tried_ ,” he said, failing to push aside the memory of the attempt. “It was like… thirty percent scientific terms, sixty percent intense lecture on consent, and ten percent awkward silence. After that he gave up and shoved some book in my hands and walked away.”

It was hard to blame him. It’s not like Bruce’s own father had been able to teach little Bruce much of anything of the sort before being horrifically murdered, and he couldn’t imagine a teenage Bruce allowing Alfred to spend more than sixty seconds covering the subject. Nor could he imagine Alfred talking about it, wonderful as Alfred was. He cringed at the thought.

Clark bent his knees and slid down to sit across from Dick, leaning against the tall bedframe. “You… know that I’m here for you, too, right? I’m _your friend_ before I’m Bruce’s _boyfriend_. If you ever want to talk…”

Dick side-eyed Clark. “We’re _not_ talking about that _now_ ,” he said, half-question, half-declaration.

“Right, _no_ , of course not,” Clark said, turning red. “I didn’t mean about _us_ , just… in general. Down the line. Just… if you have questions, or… anything, and you don’t want to go to Bruce. I’m here. If you want.”

Dick didn’t know _what_ he wanted, but Clark did seem like a hell of a lot better of an option than Bruce or Alfred when it came to any questions that he could possibly have.

“Um, yeah,” he said. “Thanks. That’d be… good, I guess. But not until I burn the image of you and Bruce out of my eyes. Can your heat-vision do that?”

“I _wish_ ,” said Clark. He sounded like he meant it.

Clark sighed and met Dick’s gaze. The thick lenses of his glasses helped to cut the bright glow of his eyes, but when he looked down, the smallest bit of them gleamed over the edges of his frames. “I’m _really_ sorry about that, Dick.”

“It’s not your fault. I should’ve known better. I should’ve knocked.”

Clark shrugged. “I have super-hearing. Letting anyone sneak up on me is my fault. It won’t happen again.”

“Okay.” Dick stretched one leg out to tap Clark’s ankle. “And you really mean it: we’re still friends? Not just… Bruce’s boyfriend and ward?”

“Absolutely. Blue and Red, right?”

“Red and Blue,” Dick corrected, letting himself smile. “Good. I like being your friend. And I don’t really need another sort-of-dad.”

“Got it.”

“Though… if you _did_ marry Bruce—”

“You’re getting _way_ ahead of yourself there,” Clark interrupted, his face souring a bit.

Did he not _want_ to marry Bruce? Or no—Bruce probably didn’t want to get married, period.

Dick sighed as dramatically as possible. “ _Fine_. But hypo- _thet_ -ically…”

“I’d still be your friend. Unless you wouldn’t want that.”

Dick brightened. “Friend is good.”

“Okay,” said Clark.

“A friend like Bruce,” Dick clarified. It was hard to explain his relationship, but Clark understood Bruce’s role, some sort of weird mix of friend, partner, mentor, brother, and father to Dick. _Like Bruce_ was the best way he had to describe it.

“Oh!” Clark smiled. “I’d like that—if that happens. And Dick—”

Whatever Clark was going to say was cut off by Bruce’s shadow falling across the floor.

“May I… have a word?”

Clark pushed himself off the ground and moved aside, but Dick shook his head.

“It’s fine, Bruce. I should’ve knocked. There’s nothing to say.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “And you’re okay?”

“Oh my _God_ , Bruce. I’m _fine._ It was like, mildly scarring, but I’ve literally seen people bludgeoned to death. I can handle…” Dick waved his hand in Bruce’s general direction.

“Okay.” Bruce looked back into the hall at the Nothing and No-one out there, and then warily brought his gaze back to Dick. “You came to see me for something?”

Dick shook his head. “It was nothing. Just… didn’t sleep well.”

“ _Oh_.” Bruce nodded in understanding, suddenly softening his stiff posture. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Dick. I didn’t think—it hasn’t been—”

“I’m gonna go start supper,” Clark said, slipping around Bruce and moving to the door. “Come help if you want, when you’re ready.”

“It’s fine,” Dick repeated to Bruce after Clark had left. “I, um. I can deal with it on my own.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I should. I’m thirteen. I shouldn’t be running for help anymore.”

Bruce didn’t disagree, though he looked a little sad about it.

Dick took a deep breath and sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “It’s fine when I’m at the Manor. I mean, once you get home.”

A wave of surprise passed over Bruce’s face. “You don’t sleep until I’m _home_?”

Dick shrugged. “I guess I could try. I just… couldn’t before, so I stopped trying. I got in the habit of listening for you to come back.”

“ _Jesus_ , Dick. You need sleep.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“You’re _growing_. You have _school_.”

“It’s not like I’m doing jumping jacks. I just _lie_ there. So it’s still resting.”

Bruce sighed. “Okay. Have… have you talked about this in therapy?”

“Not recently.” Dick shrugged. “Anyway, I wasn’t even going to bother you. I shouldn’t’ve.”

“It’s okay. You can… You’re not _bothering_ me. If you aren’t okay, I want you to come to me.” Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets and looked out the window at the sun starting to set over the lake. “You’re family, and that’s the most important thing. You’re my top priority.”

Dick pushed himself up from the floor and wrapped his arms around Bruce, who responded with a small grunt and a hand on his head. Dick stayed there for a few seconds, grounding himself in Bruce’s strength and the familiar smell of his cologne.

“What about Clark?” Dick asked. “He’s _almost_ like family. What if he becomes… I don’t know. _More_ important?”

Bruce reached his arm around Dick now and pulled him closer. “That’s not how family works, Dick.”

“Okay,” Dick mumbled into Bruce’s chest. He knew it’d been a silly fear, but it was good to hear Bruce say it.

“Just knock next time.”

“Yeah, _got_ it,” said Dick, looking up and stepping away.

“Did you want to go help cook?”

Dick nodded, and then his phone buzzed. He balanced on one foot to reach across to where it lay on the floor, and read the message.

> _Taking silence as a yes btw. Im gonna find a book of the worst puns ever told and read them all at your funeral rip_

“Yeah, um.” He straightened up and waved his phone. “Wally needs something, but I’ll be right down. You’re… not gonna try to help, are you?”

“I will only do exactly as I’m told.”

Dick snorted. “Okay, well, it’ll be worth it just to see that.”

Bruce turned, but at the door he paused and looked back. “You’re still okay with this? Me seeing Clark?”

Dick bit his lip. He’d never had so much fun as in the past months, spending time with Clark and Bruce for both missions and regular activities. He hated to admit it, but he’d had moments worrying about Bruce side-lining him, since Gotham took enough of his time and then Clark even more, but that feeling seemed selfish and insecure. Bruce didn’t _belong_ to him. And anyway, Bruce was better to be around, ever since he got together with Clark. More relaxed. More patient. Quicker to smile.

That was nice.

“I’m okay. Are… are you happy?” he asked.

Bruce furrowed his brow, like it hadn’t occurred to him to consider it. He shrugged. “I think so?”

“Then yeah. It’s great.”

Bruce nodded and then walked out, allowing Dick to press the green _call_ button on his phone.

A quarter of a ring later, Wally picked up. “Yo! I thought talking was off limits or something.”

“It’s okay. We talked. It’s all good. I mean, you know. Not _all good,_ but…”

Wally laughed on the other end. “I’m so sorry,” he said, not sounding remotely sorry.

“Uh huh. I can hear the sympathy just dripping from every word.”

“Hey man, I told you. Could be worse.”

“Yeah, I _guess_. You doing anything this weekend?”

“Uh, homework. High school is _rough_. Like, it’s not even hard. It’s just _boring_.”

“I’m sure you’ll breeze right through it.”

“Har har. You know I still have to _experience_ all of it, don’t you?”

Dick chuckled and leaned his head toward the door. The aroma of freshly cut onions and garlic was wafting up from the living room. Benefit of an open floor plan—and so unlike the Manor.

“I have to go help with food,” he said. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m alive, and no, you don’t get my video game collection.”

“Ouch. Who else is gonna want it? Your _butler_?”

“I don’t know, some poor kid in Gotham?”

“Jeez. Way to make it impossible to argue.”

“Yeah, well, knowing Bruce, if I die, all of my things will be preserved and left untouched.” He was pretty sure that every object owned by any and all of Bruce’s ancestors had been kept in the museum of Wayne Manor, so it only seemed obvious that Bruce wouldn’t break that pattern anytime soon.

“Have you… _thought_ about this?”

Dick shrugged, even though Wally couldn’t see. “Yeah, of course. People die all the time.”

“Wow, bro. Morbid much?”

“You know it.” Something crashed downstairs, and Bruce swore. “Okay, Clark _definitely_ needs help. I should go.”

“Sure I can’t come over? I’m a _great_ cook, as you know.”

Dick laughed. “Sorry, no dice. I shouldn’t even really be on the phone. Bonding time or something.”

“ _I’ll_ say. Maybe leave the bonding to Bruce and Clark.”

“Ugh, shut _up,_ you total fucknugget.”

“Never.”

Dick grinned. Wally really had a talent for cutting the tension. It was hard to remember how Dick had gotten by before him, even though they’d only met less than three months earlier. “Maybe you can come over next weekend?”

“That’d be awesome. I’ll see if I can get my parents to let me go to Iris’s to cover. I’m sure they’d prefer it, anyway.”

“Let me know.”

He hung up and dropped the phone on his bed.

Things were fine. If Bruce being happy came at the cost of needing to knock on a door, that would be worth it.

For now, he took to the bannister, shouting, “I _told_ you not to let Bruce help!”


	2. Saturday

One of Dick’s many considerable talents was smoothing over awkward social situations, and it turned out to be an invaluable one for the rest of that night. By the following day, Bruce and Clark had stopped acting quite so strange around him, and everything was almost normal. Better than normal, even. After a morning swim, they began their apple-picking adventure, which was more of an excuse to walk around outside than anything else, but Dick had never seen Bruce so at ease. He laughed at every one of Dick’s terrible jokes and walked with his hand knit in Clark’s as they made their way through the orchards.

But after the easy day and warm supper (Clark cooked, again, this time roasted pork chops and apples in a cider gravy), Dick had his worst attempt at sleep yet. Thursday night, he hadn’t even tried to sleep until dawn was nearing, and last night, he’d been so exhausted from the sun and lack of sleep and emotionally taxing day that he’d crashed hard. But come Saturday night, he found himself waking up again and again, every time in a panic.

The first three times, he forced himself to deal with it. He breathed in, breathed out, made a list of real things around him. He was at the lake. His shirt was blue. He’d picked a bushel of apples.

And that had worked, sort of, but then he was up again. Heart racing. Covered in sweat. And the process started over.

The fourth time, he woke up from a dream too awful to shake. It hadn’t been a memory or an abstract emptiness. Bruce had left on a suicide mission, and he hadn’t come back. Dick woke up terrified and grieving and angry and confused, and even though he could look around at his room and see that he had been dreaming, none of that could convince him that he hadn’t been abandoned.

He just need to say hi to Bruce, to see that he was okay. That was all.

Bruce had said that waking him up wasn’t bothering him. That he should tell him if he wasn’t okay.

So he let his eyes adjust to the dark and then made his way out of his bedroom and down to Bruce’s. And knocked.

Clark opened the door, and then flipped on the light. It was probably meant to be helpful, but instead Dick yelped and shielded his eyes.

“Ope, sorry,” said Clark, turning it off.

“No, it’s fine,” said Dick, now cast into darkness. “I’m just looking for Bruce.”

“Right.” Clark glanced back behind him, though Dick couldn’t make out anything. “He’s not up here.”

“What do you mean, _he’s not up here_?”

Clark shrugged. “He probably went out.”

“No way. He knows we’re on a break.”

Dick turned toward the stairs, hoping to find Bruce downstairs reading or tinkering on something. Clark rushed forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What did you need?”

“I just…” Dick sighed. “I was having nightmares again. It’s not a big deal.”

“Your heart’s racing like it’s a big deal.”

Dick leaned against Clark and looked up, trying to make out his expression in the dark. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t see. “My heart still thinks I’m in the dream.”

“Can I help?”

“Help me find Bruce? I just… I just need to see him, that’s all.”

“Okay, kiddo,” said Clark, ruffling his hair. “I’m… going to turn on the lights now.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” said Dick, squeezing his eyes shut just in time for everything to erupt in brightness. He opened his eyes one at a time and let them adjust before walking downstairs.

“Bruce?”

No answer.

“We can try the basement,” Dick said, crossing through the living area.

“Why the basement?”

Dick laughed. “Why do you _think_?”

They opened the door to the ground floor and flipped on the lights.

“Bruce?” Dick called again.

No answer, just as Clark had predicted. Dick looked back at Clark, who shrugged in resignation.

“The car’s gone,” Clark noted.

“I can’t _believe_ him,” Dick said.

“Can’t you?”

“It was supposed to be a weekend _off_. Why would he do that? And leave me? Leave us?”

“Ah.” Clark leaned against the doorframe. “Maybe he had a reason.”

Dick clenched his jaw. His dream had just been a dream. Bruce was just checking on Gotham. But that didn’t make it any better. “Maybe he’s a _butt_ and he _ran away_ because he can’t just spend a weekend with his family.”

Clark broke into a wide smile. “Family, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, whatever you’d call us.”

Clark laughed. “I like _family_. So. What do we do?”

“We could go to Gotham,” Dick suggested.

“He _hates_ it when I help him in Gotham.”

That wasn’t untrue. And yet: “Who cares?”

“I do. If he needs help, he’ll call.”

Dick scoffed. “ _Will_ he?”

Clark nodded. “He’s okay. I’m sure of it. We can wait for him to come home. I’ll keep an ear out. Say, you hungry? Because I could use a snack if we’re going to keep vigil.”

“I guess so,” Dick said, though as soon as he started thinking about it, his hunger became acute, pulling at his stomach. Clark probably knew that, probably suggested it for Dick’s sake, not his own. “Yeah, actually.”

Clark nodded him over, and the two of them walked into the lakehouse kitchen. It was a nice space, though not nearly as big as the one at the Manor. And not as well-stocked, either. There were plenty of staple supplies, but very little prepared and easy to eat.

He took an apple from the bushel they’d gathered at the local orchard that afternoon, but that wasn’t going to be enough.

“We could bake cookies,” Clark suggested.

“Huh?”

Clark shrugged. “It’s what Ma did, sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep. We’d bake cookies and then sit on the roof, eating them and watching the stars.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ve helped Alfred with cookies, sometimes. I think there’s stuff here for them.”

Dick began to poke around the cabinets, pulling together the supplies that he’d watched Alfred work with. Flour. Sugar. Butter. Vanilla. Baking powder. Or was it baking soda? He got both out, just in case.

“Bruce doesn’t get any, though,” Dick grumbled. “What an asshole.”

“Language, Dickie.”

“Sorry. He just _is_ kind of an asshole.”

“Hm.” Clark tilted his head and started measuring out the appropriate amounts of each ingredient by memory. “See, I don’t think this is about him at all.”

“What, then?”

“I think it’s about _you_. You wouldn’t be upset if he’d woken you up and driven _both_ of you into Gotham, would you?”

Dick’s eyebrows scrunched together, falling low. “I—well—yeah I _would_. We shouldn’t go without you. We’re supposed to be spending the weekend together. All three of us.”

“Mm. You said the point was a weekend _off_.” Clark turned on the oven to preheat and began to whisk the butter and peanut butter and sugar together.

Dick sighed. “Yeah. It is. I just mean… it’s not that I feel left out. It’s more like… why is _he_ so important, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know I’m just a sidekick, or whatever—”

“You aren’t _just_ anything,” Clark interrupted.

Dick shrugged and began to mix the dry ingredients in a separate bowl. “I know, I know. But he has cases he works without me. I get it. I have to sleep more and do homework and stuff. But _you_ aren’t like that. And if you can take a weekend off, he sure as hell—heck—can.”

Clark nodded, but his eyes fell.

“Clark?”

“I haven’t… _completely_ … taken the weekend off.”

“Newspaper stuff’s okay,” Dick said absent-mindedly. When Clark didn’t answer, Dick looked up to see a map of guilt across Clark’s face.

“Sorry?”

Dick lost control of the spoon, sending the white powdery mix spraying across the counter. “Clark!”

“You two sleep in _so_ late! I just pop out, and I’m always back before you get up.”

“Ugh,” Dick groaned. “I hope you don’t think you’re _fooling_ him.”

“Not particularly, no…”

“So this is _your_ fault! He’s going out _now_ for the same reason as you flew off in the morning. _We’re asleep. We won’t mind. Blah blah blah_.” Dick fixed Clark with an accusatory glare.

Clark shifted his weight side to side. “Well, if you put it like that…”

“You know what? I don’t _want_ your cookies anymore.” Dick shoved the mixing bowl deeper into the island and turned away, but then Clark was there, standing in front of him, arms crossed.

No, not standing. Hovering. Full-on Superman pose, albeit in a t-shirt and pajama pants.

It wasn’t appreciated.

“Go away,” Dick grumbled, futilely side-stepping, only to meet Clark’s chest once more.

“Dickie, be reasonable,” Clark said, touching back down to the ground. “You know how hard it is to just… take time off like that.”

“Yeah, I do. Because I’m _doing_ it.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why? You said I’m not _just_ a sidekick, but what, then? Seriously. Name _one_ other reason.”

“Because you can shut it out!” Clark’s chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. “I… I know _exactly_ what I’m choosing to ignore when I decide to… to have a quiet dinner, or to watch a sit-com, or to… bake cookies.”

“ _Fuck_ you, Clark.”

Clark recoiled, and his eyes opened wide in shock, but he didn’t stoop to Dick’s level. 

Of course he didn’t.

Bruce would have snapped back, or stormed off, or _something_. Clark just shook his head.

“That _means_ that I can pick my battles,” he continued. “Deal with the things that only I can do, and leave others for the good people across the world who are ready to step in and help on their own. It wasn’t easy to learn, but… I’ve learned it’s not my job to fix every problem everywhere at all times. Dinner and sit-coms and baking cookies with my _favorite_ _people_ are important. Saving the world means nothing if I treat the people who love me like they don’t matter.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Dick whispered, feeling like a big jerk now. Was there a good way to take back a _fuck you_? Probably not.

“Bruce, though…” Clark ran a hand through his cowlicks and sighed. “He can’t hear what I hear, so I’m pretty sure he imagines the worst, _all_ the time. If he’s not out there, he’s thinking…”

Clark sighed and turned, letting himself lean back on the counter next to Dick instead of blocking his way. “You know Gotham, Dickie. You know Bruce’s story. You know your own. Even a small, simple crime can ruin a life, forever. And Bruce… I don’t think he knows how to let that go.”

Dick’s eyes fell. “Bruce always says that to save one life is to save everyone. And taking one life is like killing everyone.”

“The Talmud.”

“What?”

“That’s… it’s a saying from the Talmud,” Clark explained. “Jewish teachings. It’s in the Qur’an, too.”

“Oh, right.” He’d heard Bruce explain something similar once, but his mind was focused on a bigger problem than who or what Bruce was quoting. Dick shrugged. “I just… Maybe… the same is true for standing aside. Letting someone else die. It’s like letting the whole world die. And I’m just being… really selfish.” 

Dick’s eyes burned hot, and when he blinked, tears splattered away. He was too old to cry like this. 

“Oh, no,” said Clark, kneeling down and taking Dick’s shoulders. “No, no, no. That’s all wrong.”

“How? If… If I tell you guys to go stupid waterskiing and someone dies and you could have saved them, and… what if that’s someone’s _mom_? That person could mean _everything_ to someone. Their whole world. Isn’t that more important?”

Clark’s arms were circled all the way around him now. “I think that’s what Bruce tells himself,” he whispered. “But you have to understand, that’s not right. That’s _not_ right, Dickie. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Dick buried his head in Clark’s shoulder, shaking it. “How not?” he mumbled.

“The same reason we need to eat and sleep and shower,” Clark’s voice said in his ear. “Because recharging alone and recharging with family are just as necessary as food and sleep to keep us healthy and able to keep fighting. Bruce forgets that sometimes.”

Dick found himself pushed up, a few inches away from Clark. He didn’t help at all, leaning his weight in, but Clark held him fast. 

“Before you came,” Clark said, “Bruce was running himself into the ground. I _really_ thought he might give out, just… push himself so hard that he wouldn’t be able to really fight back when the time came. You saved his life, Dickie. You’re saving it every day. And I’m not saying that to be cute, or in some spiritual way. I mean you’ve forced him to start taking _care_ of himself. To laugh. To take a break.”

Dick wiped the back of his hands across his eyes.

“This weekend… it was a really good idea. A _great_ idea. And I’m sorry I ruined it.”

“You didn’t _ruin_ it,” Dick mumbled.

“Maybe not, but you’re right: I was just thinking about whether you two would miss me, and not the spirit of the trip. So… unless there’s some kind of real emergency—one we’d _all_ respond to—I’m done. And when Bruce comes back, we’ll give him some cookies and lay down the law. How’s that sound?”

Dick nodded. “Okay, I guess.”

Dick cracked the eggs into the mix one by one as Clark ordered. When Clark took over combining the wet and dry mixtures, Dick opened a cabinet that concealed the stereo system. Bruce had, of course, left the satellite radio on some mopey dopey eighties station, but Dick clicked through the presets to an oldies station that was playing a doo-wop number that Clark immediately started bobbing his head to as he began placing dollops of dough onto the cookie sheet. 

Dick jumped up to lean across the island counter and started helping spoon the dough, and within a couple of minutes, they were ready for the oven. Clark popped the tray in and pressed the timer buttons for ten minutes before looking back at Dick.

“You aren’t just gonna let that dough _sit_ there, are you?”

Dick grinned and grabbed a spoon, scraping the edges of the mixing bowl for dough remnants. Clark smiled and started putting away the ingredients, though all the work stopped when Elvis’s voice came over.

It blended evenly with Clark’s own voice, singing along in an incredibly close impression. “ _My friends say I’m acting wild as a bug—I’m in love—I’m all shook up! Uh huh uh, yeah, hey hey_!”

Dick laughed as Clark started dancing along like a fool and acting out the next verse. Clark held out a hand for Dick, who took it and found himself being spun around once, and then launched up into an easy aerial over Clark’s head. Dick landed on the counter and started dancing himself.

Somewhere during the line “ _My insides shake like a leaf on a tree_ ,” Clark stopped singing and stood at attention like a guard dog. “That’s him.”

His warning came a little late—he’d been caught up in the music, apparently—because Bruce opened the basement door only a second later. He’d removed his cape and cowl, but he remained in his black and grey suit still stained with somebody’s blood. Hopefully not his own.

“What the hell is happening?”

Dick dropped to sit on the edge of the counter and crossed his arms. “Oh, look who it is.”

“Welcome back,” said Clark.

“Why are you two up?”

“Couldn’t _sleep_ ,” Dick said, not hiding the accusation in his voice.

Bruce swallowed and blinked twice, quickly. Guilty. “You _fell_ asleep. I waited.”

Dick rolled his eyes, and thankfully Clark swept in to handle it. 

“He woke up. We were just passing the time.” He pressed his palm to Bruce’s chest and greeted him with a kiss before saying, “You’re hurt.”

“Not really,” said Bruce, though he crossed to the cabinet, filled a glass with water at the fridge, and swirled it in his mouth before spitting blood into the sink. “Minor.”

Clark grimaced. “Bruce… Dick and I were talking and… this weekend’s supposed to be time off. For all of us.”

“ _You_ went out this morning.”

“I know, and I shouldn’t’ve.”

“Really?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

Clark opened his mouth, looked at Dick, and closed it again. “That’s not the point.”

“What did you _do_?” Bruce repeated.

Clark’s gaze fell on a spot of flour on the counter from Dick’s outburst. “I went to help a woman—she drove off a bridge. But she was fine.”

“That’s all?”

“Fine! Her kid was drowning and I saved him. Listen, I can justify it. I could do it all day and all night, and never see you, but that’s not living.” He followed to where Bruce now stood, and pushed back a loose lock of sweaty hair from Bruce’s brow. He lowered his voice, but Dick still heard him say, “It’s not a good example for Dick.”

Bruce looked over at Dick, but before he could respond, the timer blared loudly.

“Cookies,” Dick explained, jumping down from the counter and opening the oven. He reached to the counter for the oven mitts, but they were still hanging on the wall. 

He stood up and started to reach across for them, but Clark said, “Got it!” and pulled the tray out with his bare hands.

“Show-off,” Dick joked.

Clark laughed and set the cookies on the range before turning the oven off.

“They look good,” Bruce said, sitting down at one of the counter stools. It was a simple enough thing to say, but it wasn’t necessary. Which meant Bruce was making an effort. An apology, maybe.

Clark beamed. “Ya think? I wasn’t able to call Ma for the recipe, so we were sort of winging it.”

“Well, I doubt they’re as good as _Alfred’s_ ,” he said.

“Not fair,” Dick countered. “Alfred has some secret dark magic secrets for cooking, I’m sure of it.”

“It’s possible,” Bruce said with a laugh. He held out his hand. “Let’s see.”

Clark eyed Dick. “Are we sharing?”

Dick narrowed his eyes and then moved to stand across from Bruce. He put his hands on the counter and leaned in, though the height of the counter meant it didn’t have quite the interrogation effect he was going for.

“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you say, Bruce? Are you going to take the rest of this weekend off? Because these cookies are _vacation_ cookies, not _patrol_ cookies.”

Bruce’s smile vanished, and he looked across at Dick. “I was only gone an hour, but—”

“ _Only_ is what addicts say, not heroes,” Dick snapped.

A sharp inhaling sound answered that, but Bruce then sighed and nodded. “ _But_ ,” he continued, “I see your point, and I won’t leave again.”

Dick leaned in further, staring down Bruce in a completely futile contest. “Okay,” he said. “He can have a cookie.”

Clark placed two plates, each with two warm peanut-butter cookies, on the counter between Bruce and Dick. Bruce picked one up, inspected both sides, broke it in half, and then took a small bite. “Not bad.”

Dick laughed and went to the fridge to pour everyone milk while Clark brought his own plate over and nudged Bruce. “Outside.”

Bruce raised a skeptical eyebrow, but took the two plates and followed Clark onto the deck. By the time Dick reached them, Clark had lit a circle of citronella candles to ward of the bugs and pulled out a chair for Dick.

“So,” said Dick, biting off half a cookie in one bite, “who’s causing trouble in Gotham?”

“Penguin,” said Bruce. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

“No, no,” Dick chided. “You went off and got to have all the fun. The _least_ you can do is share the deets.”

Bruce laughed. “Are you sure? It’s pretty gruesome.”

Dick sat down, rocking the chair back and forth in the fresh night air. “Totally sure, Brucester. We’re all ears.”

 


	3. Sunday

“Bruce?”

Bruce opened one eye and promptly shut it against the glare of the morning light. He groaned something incoherent and rolled over, finding Clark’s side and nestling against it.

“Bruce, I have a question.”

“Too early,” mumbled Bruce, burying his head between Clark’s chest and the bed and then throwing a sheet over his head for good measure.

But it would be too good to be true for Clark to let him sleep.

“You know, you wouldn’t be so tired if you hadn’t gone to Gotham.”

“I already heard this lecture,” Bruce grumbled. “What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

“A couple of weeks ago… at the Monarchs game… When you told Lois that you might marry me… what did you mean?”

Bruce groaned. “Forget it.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t. That’s not a small thing to say.” Clark was quiet for a moment, but his chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths. “Is that even… on the table?”

“Not if you keep trying to have serious conversations at five the fuck in the morning.”

“It’s _nine_ , Bruce.”

“Hnn.” Bruce pressed closer into Clark’s side, but the lingering question wasn’t going away. He could _feel_ Clark’s gaze on him—and when he opened his eyes, he saw that it was. “We’ve only been together for three months. It’s a little early to discuss that.”

“Yeah, well, _I_ thought so, but _you_ said it.”

“I wanted Lex and Lois to know I was serious. You weren’t meant to hear it.”

Clark’s eyes narrowed. “Really.”

Bruce pushed himself halfway up onto the pillows. There was clearly no salvaging any more sleep.

“What do you _want_ me to say, Clark?”

“The truth.”

Clark blinked in confusion, looking condescendingly through his glasses, which— _why_? Not that they didn’t look good on him. Combined with his cow-licked bedhead and bare chest, they almost gave the impression of a quiet, private moment, a glimpse of authenticity in an over-produced world.

Except they were a ruse, and they both knew it. It didn’t bother him at night, so much, when they were more like a final article of clothing to be removed. And usually, Clark was awake and dressed well before him. He wasn’t used to waking up with Clark there, still in bed, untouched by the world.

It was nice. Maybe Dick had been onto something, after all. But the glasses were so strange.

“I’m not _proposing_ ,” Clark clarified. “I just want to know if that’s even an option. If that’s a… possible destination on the path we’re on.”

“Why are you wearing your glasses?”

Clark sat back and touched the frames. “I—I don’t know. Habit. It helps cut the intensity, I guess. I can take them off, if—”

“No.” Bruce tilted his head, considering the _truth_ of the question. The truth was, he had no idea. He’d never given marriage much thought, as he’d always assumed he’d die long before that ever became an issue, and then there was the matter of his calling and obligation to Gotham. It hadn’t left much room for a spouse in the picture.

Then again, he hadn’t ever seen himself raising a teenage boy, but here he was, and he wouldn’t give it up for the world.

“Maybe,” he said.

Clark reached for his glasses, and Bruce stopped him, taking his hand.

“I mean, _maybe_ it’s on the table. For the future. It’s not… _off_ the table.”

“It’s not?”

Bruce scowled. “Why the shocked tone?”

“I don’t know,” said Clark with a shrug. “I just was worried that… I don’t know. Forget it.”

“I’ll be honest,” said Bruce. “I don’t see how it would possibly work, but—”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“Can’t we do this after coffee?” Bruce grumbled, shuffling back under the covers.

He felt Clark move out of the bed and then a strong wind blow by, and Clark was gone. Bruce shrugged and closed his eyes. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before he smelled hot, freshly brewed coffee right in front of him.

“As requested,” said Clark, now in a t-shirt and pants. Back in the glasses. “Gotham street-cart coffee. Your favorite.”

“Hrn,” said Bruce. Gotham street-cart coffee wasn’t actually very good at all, but he drank it anyway.

Clark slid back into bed. “So, shoot: what _impossibility_ did you think of that I hadn’t?”

Bruce rubbed his forehead as he thought. This wasn’t the conversation he’d been hoping to have. Not on this trip. Not this morning. It seemed wrong to dwell on the inevitability of this ending, and it felt even worse to say something like that to Clark. Even if he was sure it were true.

“Well, I’m not moving to _Metropolis_ , for one.”

“I could move here. I mean, to Gotham, not the lakehouse. Not that I’d mind the lakehouse.”

That brought a dry laugh up from Bruce’s chest. “You _hate_ Gotham. You _love_ Metropolis.”

“I love _you_.”

They were simple words, but not ones often expressed. Bruce wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so he just bit back the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You love your job, too. Granted, I could get you something in Gotham, but I couldn’t ask you to leave the _Planet_. And someone’s bound to notice Superman changing his base of operations.”

“I can fly there—to the Planet. Keep my job.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. That didn’t seem like any kind of good plan, if the idea was to keep protecting a secret identity. “You’ll _fly_ there. No one will notice _that_.”

“Mmhmm. You have a helicopter, right?”

Bruce laughed. “You’d make Alfred fly you to Metropolis every morning?”

“I’ll learn to pilot it. Seems like a good skill to know.”

“Yes, it is. For people who _can’t fly_.”

Clark grinned and then turned to his side, scooting down into the bed. “Give me another excuse to tear down. This is fun.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no easy words came. Nothing he could say would have any weight, now. It was all a game.

Clark didn’t get nearly enough credit for his cleverness.

“Fine. Where would we even _get_ married?” Bruce challenged.

“Smallville, obviously,” Clark said without a second’s hesitation.

“ _Smallville_?”

“I mean, it’s my home, I know, but you’re at home there, too.”

“Sure.” That much was true. The Kent farm was a good place, one of the best. “But. It’s _Kansas_.”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“And…” Nothing particularly inoffensive came to Bruce’s mind. “I don’t know. I never pictured a farm wedding.”

“Sorry—you _pictured_ your wedding?” Clark held back laughter behind tight lips.

“Not _exactly_ ,” Bruce admitted. He’d seen his parents’ wedding photographs. The Cathedral downtown. A huge gala. Every detail impeccable. Somehow he’d assumed that if it _did_ happen, which it never would, it would look like that. Which, of course, he would hate. Maybe that was part of why he was so sure it wouldn’t happen. But _Kansas_ certainly hadn’t ever been on his radar. “I just figured that… well, if I got to that point, it’d be in Gotham. In the city.”

“Of course. But the farm’s private,” Clark explained. “So we could get everyone together out there and not be on the radar of the Gotham tabloids. You could be yourself.”

“Everyone? Who’s _everyone_?”

“Just, you know… my parents, Alfred and Dick… your cousins, maybe?”

“No. Kate’s the only half-way decent one, and if I invite Kate, I have to deal with Uncle Jacob, and… _no_.”

“Okay, _not_ your cousins. Lois, Jimmy, maybe Perry—do you invite a boss to a wedding? Lana and Pete. Kenny. And your friends—Lucius, and the Gordons. And the League.”

“Hrn. Not the League. Diana. And Zee.”

“Diana and Zee, and Arthur and Barry and—”

“The others didn’t even know my identity until _three_ _weeks_ ago. I can’t have them at a _wedding_.”

“Well, you _could’ve_ told them earlier.”

Bruce scoffed. “You know why I didn’t. With Dick—”

“I know why,” said Clark. “But this is a hypothetical wedding, _many_ moons away, so it’ll be old news by the time this could ever happen. Point is, I can’t imagine more than twenty-five, tops. Easy to gather that number at the farm—maybe throw up a tent last-minute if it’s raining…”

“You’ve really thought this all out.”

“No,” Clark protested. “I’m thinking _now_. The solution is just _very_ obvious. Give me something harder, next time.”

“Hm. That _can_ be arranged.”

Clark flushed red and rolled his eyes. “Something more _challenging_.”

“I just think it’s odd to talk about weddings after three months.”

“Ah—but according to you,” Clark noted, “you’ve been in love with me for two _years_.”

“Touché.”

“You know, Ma and Pa only dated for six months when they got engaged.”

“They also live in a town called _Smallville_ ,” Bruce noted.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Means they probably knew their market. Your dad wasn’t going to find anyone as good as Martha Clark.”

“And what makes you think you’d find anyone better than _me_?”

Bruce laughed. There _wasn’t_ really anyone better than Clark Kent. And if he were honest with himself, it was hard to think of anyone being a better _partner_ than Clark. Clark was as good as they came.

But Bruce wasn’t. He didn’t really _deserve_ someone so good, so it was hard to believe that Clark could ever really be _his_. Hard to have the confidence to just lock that good luck down and claim it for himself.

“What if you want kids?” he said. “I mean, your _own_. Biologically.”

Clark looked like he’d been slapped in the face—by something that could actually slap him.

“What?”

“Don’t be a _jerk_ , Bruce. You _know_ I can’t.”

Bruce straightened up. “No, I don’t _know_ that. The science isn’t at all settled. For all we know, Kryptonian and human DNA is compatible _enough_.”

“You think…” Clark looked off in the distance, lost in some sort of vision, and then he shook his head. “We have _no_ idea if that would ever work. If it would be _safe_. If…”

His nose scrunched, and he glared at Bruce. “I don’t _need_ that. I’ve never expected it. And anyway, it’s not you can even count on that working for humans. My parents couldn’t. They adopted.”

“Your parents adopted a space-baby that landed in the backyard,” Bruce said wryly, breaking Clark’s dark glower into laughter. “I don’t think that’s a great example of normal human experience.”

“Maybe not, but if we… end up together, we can figure it out. I always kind of reckoned it wasn’t going to be my lot. And really, I feel lucky enough being part of Dick’s life. I like being Uncle Clark.”

Bruce smiled. “Yeah?”

Clark nodded.

“He’s an amazing kid.”

“He is,” said Bruce. “And _you’re_ amazing _with_ him.”

“I am?” Clark straightened and looked over. “What’d I do?”

Bruce chuckled. Clark probably hadn’t seen it as _doing_ anything other than being himself. “You were there for him when he was upset. You talked him down, and he listened to you. You made him feel safe. That’s about all anyone can ask for.”

“Oh.” Clark smiled and scooted down under the covers. “You’re not…” Clark’s words failed him. “You’re okay with that?”

“Yes, Clark. I’m okay with Dick feeling respected and safe.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Clark said, and Bruce knew it. He wanted to know if Bruce were uncomfortable with Dick being so close with Clark, if Bruce were jealous. Which was ridiculous, of course.

“I’m okay with him leaning on you,” Bruce assured him, drawing him into a kiss. “You’re important to him. To both of us.”

“I know,” Clark ceded. “Dick was just… real upset. At both of us.”

“Hm.” Bruce blinked, looking out the window at the sunlight dancing on the lake. Dick got upset about a lot of things, and it was becoming harder and harder to know what was a real concern and what wasn’t. This seemed real enough, but the matter had been settled. “Clark, what’s this _really_ about?”

“I don’t know.” Clark turned and then added, “The boy yesterday… he just needed CPR. It was nothing major. But the whole time I just kept thinking of how much he reminded me of Dick. And… I see a _lot_ of people not make it. _You_ know. I always know it might happen, but I was so _scared_ this time. Not even for the boy—I knew I could help him, that he’d be fine—but of something happening to Dick, or to you… you throw yourself in these situations every day, and you get hurt, and what if one day it’s too much? What if—”

Bruce shut Clark up with a kiss. “It will be, one day,” he said. “Someday. But that’s why I train. I prepare. I’m not rushing in with my eyes closed. And you know I’d never let anything to Dick.”

“I know that, but—”

“One day at a time, Clark. We all woke up safe today. Let’s just be glad of that.”

Clark’s eyebrows drew together, but he didn’t say anything else, so Bruce slipped his hands under Clark’s shirt and trailed his fingers down his spine.

“No other terrible dooms looming over our future?” Clark whispered.

Bruce shook his head and laughed. “Other than your insistence on having important conversations before I’ve finished my coffee? No.”

“Good.” Clark nodded, apparently satisfied. “This was good. To talk. I’m not… locking you into anything. I just wanted to talk.”

“Are we done _talking_?”

Clark nodded. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m right here,” Bruce assured him, pressing in closer. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

A smile flitted across Clark’s face, and dropped his glasses on the bedside table with a _clink_.

“Did you—?”

“Yes,” said Clark, before Bruce’s question could even get out. “I locked the door.”

***

After a long hike up and down the nearby mountain and an early dinner of mediocre local pizza, Dick declared it movie night.

Technically, every night was movie night. The first night, Bruce had made them watch _Gangs of New York_ , and then Clark had countered with _Lilo and Stitch_ , but Dick, not to be outdone, held out two DVDs: _Fellowship of the Ring_ and _The Two Towers_.

“Double feature,” he declared. “And hey… if we all like it, maybe we can actually see the last one on the big screen?”

Pushing his luck. He plastered on a sweet smile and then felt horribly guilty as Bruce nervously clenched his jaw.

“We don’t _have_ to,” Dick clarified quickly, setting down the cases. “Just a thought. A _maybe_. Not the midnight showing, or anything.”

“Maybe,” Bruce said, standing and crossing toward the kitchen.

“Really?” Dick yelled after him.

“I said _maybe_!” Bruce called back.

Dick looked back at Clark, who shook his head and whispered, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dickie.”

Dick sighed and knelt down to put in the first disc. “Yeah, I know. I was thinking… Maybe we can go in Metropolis? Or out here, upstate. Not in Gotham.”

“That _may_ work. I didn’t take you for a Tolkein fan.”

Dick shrugged. “I like the movies. I watched them with Alfred when Bruce was out, so he hasn’t seen them yet. I haven’t like… read all the books or anything.”

“You should,” Clark said. “They’re great.”

Bruce reemerged from the kitchen, bringing out apples and honey, like he did every year, despite the three huge bowls of popcorn that Dick had already made for them all.

“For good luck,” he explained. Like he did every year.

Clark brightened with an amused expression. “Some atheist lapsed-Episcopalian you are,” he jibed, “celebrating the High Holidays.”

“One: I’m agnostic,” Bruce corrected. “Two: they’re _apples_ , not a burnt offering. Three: my mother will find a way to haunt me if I don’t do the _bare_ minimum to keep her traditions, even if the holiday ended two hours ago, so have a happy _fucking_ new year.”

“Language!” Dick shouted, throwing a pillow at Bruce, who caught it and threw it back.

Clark’s laughter turned into a warmer smile, and he pulled Bruce into the middle seat of the couch. “You too,” he said, kissing his cheek.

“Hey, Clark, are there Kryptonian holidays?” Dick asked, grabbing two apple slices in each hand and juggling them.

“Yeah, sure,” Clark said, leaning forward to better see Dick. “I mean, I only know what I’ve learned from the Fortress, obviously, but. There’s… a Remembrance Day for the fallen; a Day of Truth, where they celebrated Val-Lor, a slave who spoke the truth to his oppressors; there’s the Nova Cycle, when all the disputes from the prior year are settled for a fresh start and they forgive crimes…”

Bruce turned his face to Dick and cupped his mouth, whispering, “It’s all the same baloney that we have here.”

“I can _hear_ you!” Clark said, throwing an apple slice at Bruce’s head. It hit with an audible _thunk_ and bounced back onto Clark’s lap.

“Am I _wrong_?” Bruce asked.

“Yes! And no. _Ugh_.” Clark shook his head and bit half of the fallen apple projectile. “Let’s just watch the movie, okay?”

“Movies! Plural,” Dick corrected.

“Fine by me,” said Bruce, reaching an arm around Clark’s shoulder and taking the remote in his free hand.

The movie was a good choice. Clark knew the story well but hadn’t seen it, and he eagerly jumped in with extra fun facts and pieces of information, while Bruce critiqued the Fellowship’s strategies, and all three of them choked back tears at Boromir’s death scene. Dick normally would’ve given Bruce some flak for crying at a movie, but Bruce’s knuckles were white gripping Clark’s hand as the fallen man whispered, “ _My brother… My captain… My king…”_

And soon, the first movie was over.

“I’m going to grab some seltzers while you switch discs,” Clark said, standing up and stretching his legs. “Any takers?”

“Sure,” said Bruce.

“No, I’m good,” Dick chimed in.

It only took him five seconds to come back with the drinks, as well as a plate full of cookies left over from the night before. As he approached the coffee table, Dick patted the seat next to him.

Clark nodded and crossed around to the other side of the coach, sitting next to Dick instead of Bruce. Bruce rested his arm across the back of the couch, and Dick scooted closer toward Bruce’s side. He grabbed Clark’s elbow and tugged.

“This one’s even better,” he whispered.

“I heard they messed up Faramir’s character,” Clark said. “In the books, he never hesitates to turn down the Ring.”

“You know,” Bruce said, his voice sharp, “ _after_ the movie would be a better time to discuss major plot points.”

Clark and Dick exchanged a grin, and Dick curled up, leaning his head on Bruce’s chest as the scene of Gandalf and the Balrog replayed in Frodo’s nightmares. Bruce’s arm tightened around Dick, who began to drift in and out of consciousness.

The last thing he remembered was Merry and Pippin arguing over their height.

And then he woke suddenly, not able to remember his nightmare but still caught in the panic of one. But the movie was still on, and Bruce was there, holding his shoulder and hushing away his fears, and Clark’s smile beamed down at him.

He was safe.

He was safe.

He didn’t wake up again until he wasn’t on the couch at all, but being carried down the hallway. By Bruce, he thought, but it didn’t feel like Bruce. Didn’t smell like Bruce.

Clark.

He set Dick down in his bed, and Bruce pulled the covers over him before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Did you like the movie?” Dick mumbled.

Bruce nodded. “I liked the speech at the end.”

“Hm?”

“Even darkness must pass,” Bruce quoted back. “A new day will come, and when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer.”

“Sam’s speech,” Clark explained, stepping back. “There’s some good in the world, Mister Frodo,” he said, imitating the character’s accent and voice eerily well, “and it’s worth fighting for.”

“Oh,” said Dick, pulling the heavy blanket around himself and smiling. Even if he hadn’t been able to watch the movie, it had meant something to Bruce. And that was good. “Yeah. That speech.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Bruce asked.

Dick blearily looked over and nodded. “Just a little,” he muttered.

“You can head to bed,” Bruce said to Clark. “I’ll be there soon.”

“You sure?”

Bruce nodded.

“Good night, Dickie,” Clark whispered, and then he was gone, and it was just Dick and Bruce, like always.

Bruce moved to a chair next to Dick’s bed and turned the light off with a _click_ of the wheel. Dick drifted back into sleep.

He woke up once more that night, gasping and reaching out for someone.

No one would be there, he was _sure_. It was the darkness again, the Nothing, the No-one.

But Bruce’s voice broke through the darkness, saying, “It was a dream,” and his arm suddenly came within reach of Dick’s wild grasping. “Shhh, chum. You’re here. At the lake. I’m right here. Clark’s down the hall.”

“Clark brought me up?”

Bruce nodded. Dick curled up around Bruce’s arm, like he used to in his first weeks at the Manor, and smiled. He wasn't alone at all.  “It was just a dream?”

“It was just a dream.”

“Okay,” Dick whispered, settling back in and listening for the sounds of crickets outside and the soft lapping of water beneath the wind. “Okay. I’m okay.”

He closed his eyes, rested his head on Bruce's arm, and didn't wake up again until morning.


End file.
